Patrick didn’t move or give any indication that he had heard her at all.
Marianne straightened her back and took a step forward. “I, um…” She gestured down at her gown. “I dress like this sometimes. It was a secret I never told you.” Pause. “I lied to you about it.” Marianne became aware that she was nodding, though she didn’t know why. “I lied to you about a lot of things. Obviously.”
And Patrick still didn’t move. He may have clenched his jaw a little tighter, but it might have just been the light.
Good grief, could he not help her out even a little?
No, that was only fair. And if it was only fair that she do everything herself, then she might as well get started. Marianne took another step forward, taking tiny breaths. “Well, it’s a little early.” She checked a non-existent watch on her wrist and tried to increase the volume of her voice. “I’m a little nervous; I didn’t expect to be here so soon.”
She waited, but he didn’t speak.
“Also,” she said. “I certainly didn’t expect to have an audience for this.” Marianne glanced over at the crowd. She was hoping to see smiles and nods of encouragement in return, but they all looked scared. Patrick’s hostile demeanor wasn’t just her imagination then. She looked back at him, trying to stand up taller. “I just wanted the chance to tell you in person how…” Her eyes started burning and her heart was going a million miles a second, but she couldn’t stop now. This was it. “How sorry I am.”
No reaction.
“Um…” Marianne took a deep breath and forced a less dejected, more open expression onto her face, watching him closely for any sign that he was listening. Any sign at all. “I know that it probably doesn’t matter anymore, but I love you.” Marianne forced a smile, though she’d probably never been less happy in her life. “I love you in the right way now.”
Patrick stared back at her, still expressionless. Then he nodded. That’s it.
Marianne nodded back. He’d given his answer, and it was no. “Okay,” she said, looking away at the crowd again. Georgia looked about to cry. Sally was staring intently at her shoes. “That’s fine,” mumbled Marianne. “It’s fair.” She looked back at him.
Patrick was a few steps closer to her than before. His mouth was open like he wanted to speak but didn’t know what to say. Understandable. Seriously, what do you say to a girl who just can’t take a hint?
She looked down at the ground to gather herself. What now? Changing the subject seemed to be the only option. “Well, anyway…” Marianne lifted a hand toward him, trying to look polite, trying to look as if she wasn’t bleeding internally. “What about you? I mean, you got a new place right?” She sighed for effect. “How have you been?”
Patrick lost his dazed look. “How have I been?” he said. As it turned out, Marianne really had been imagining that hint of anger on Patrick’s face. He had only been confused and speechless before. Now he was angry. “How have I been?” he said louder.
Marianne took a tiny step back. She heard Ivan mutter, “Uh-oh.”
Patrick looked like he’d never been asked a more offensive question. “How the hell do you think I’ve been, Marianne?”
“Um…” Marianne started ringing her pinkie finger and glanced around for help, but no one gave it. She looked back at him. “Good?”
He gaped at her. “No.”
“So…” Marianne swallowed. “You’ve been upset, then.”
He shook his head, jaw muscles twitching.
“Angry?” she said.
Patrick kept shaking his head.
Marianne had nothing else. “I… I don’t know then.” She shrugged.
Patrick looked down at the ground and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked up at her, and he looked sad. “How have you been, Marianne?”
Marianne almost laughed at that, and then she got it. She knew exactly how he’d been. She looked at him, and he looked back at her. Oh my. She shouldn’t start crying, not yet. She nodded, and he nodded back. Marianne put her hands on her cheeks and mouthed, “Screwed,” as the exact same moment that he mouthed, “Screwed.”
And he smiled at her for the first time.
Marianne let her breath out all at once and thought her knees might buckle. Maybe they did start to buckle, but it didn’t matter. Patrick had her.
He’d crossed the distance between them, silent as a ghost, and he was holding her against his chest. Marianne leaned her face into his shirt, breathing in the smell of him. Toothpaste and laundry detergent. She bit her lip to keep it from shaking. He was so there. Actually, there. His arms were around her. He was touching her hair. She bit her lip harder.
“Baby,” he whispered. “I got your texts.”
Marianne laughed into his shirt, not willing to move back yet. “I can’t believe you came.”
There was a pause. “Marianne,” he said quietly. He stepped back from her and lifted up her face with his palms, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ve been here since two-thirty.”
She stared up at him, her voice rising to an unnaturally high pitch. “What?”
He smiled at her and ran his fingers across her face and down the sides of her neck. “That was all I needed to hear, and I… When I saw you, I just couldn’t move. I’ve missed you so much.” He moved his hands back to her face. “I love you, Marianne. My beautiful Marianne.”
She shook her head. This couldn’t be happening.
“What is it?” he said. “Oh, I’m sorry…” He let go of her suddenly and creased his forehead. He glanced down at her dress and her hair. “Am I supposed to call you Raven now?”
Marianne laughed once and pressed her forehead into his chest again.
“Moonlight?” he whispered, leaning down to her and grinning wider. “Jezebel?”
She stood up straight and coughed. “Nightshade, Mistress of the Void, will do just fine, thank you.”
Patrick nodded agreeably, but then stopped smiling. It looked like it hurt him to stare at her. “You really are so beautiful.”
Marianne reached up and touched his face. “Only on the outside.”
“So true,” he said, nodding. He smiled.
Patrick bent down and touched his forehead to hers. His hands moved across her waist and around her back, pulling her closer. Marianne leaned into him, grabbing the front of his shirt. She shut her eyes and leaned her face against the side of his, feeling his stubble with her lips. Oh my. There was that toothpaste smell again.
Patrick held her close by the small of her back and moved his other hand slowly up to her neck. He twined his fingers into her hair, breathing softly against her cheek. Marianne moved her mouth an inch to the right, and Patrick moved the rest of the way. At first, he barely touched her, almost as if he was resting his lips on hers. He breathed in once and whispered, “You smell amazing.”
No, she didn’t. Marianne smiled, keeping her mouth against his. “Yup, that’s me. Cigarettes and puke.”
Patrick kissed her lightly. “Clove cigarettes. That’s different.” And then he really kissed her, the way only Patrick could kiss. Granted, she’d never really kissed anyone else—even Georgia—but she could tell. Nobody could do it like this. Not holding back at all, but never messy. He always gave her time to breathe, even when she didn’t want it. Gentle and insistent. Oh, she loved him. Patrick moved her slightly so they stood even closer, if that were possible, and moved his mouth down to her jaw. Then below her ear, then…
“Geez! Finish up already,” shouted Ivan. “We want to clap, or something. This is getting awkward.”
Eleven o’clock:
The clapping had quickly turned to a cheering, weeping, hugging love-fest. It was plain weird, so Marianne insisted that they move it somewhere less public. That somewhere ended up being Marianne’s backyard.
Marianne sat on the edge of the pool beside Patrick, swishing her wet skirt around in the water. Nana was in the pool (clothes on, thank goodness) teaching Andrew, Todd, and Big-Mouthed-Beth how to tread water.
Ivan and Ben were sitting on the patio reliving the “look on Patrick’s face” again and again with anyone walking by. Mom was busy passing out towels to random wet Goths, crying, and kissing Patrick on the cheek every chance she got.
Danielle was smoking. And drinking. And smoking some more. “Crap, I’m just so happy!” she shouted from her lounge chair to no one in particular. “I didn’t think this was going to work. I really didn’t think this was going to work.”
“You and me both, sister,” said Georgia, skipping over and squishing into the chair with Danielle. “Especially after I accidentally told him about how I made out with Marianne.” She shook her head. “He was really upset.”
Marianne couldn’t take it anymore. “He was not!” She turned her head to face Patrick. “Tell her! You were not upset, right? You didn’t think that I actually made out with Georgia, did you?”
Patrick grimaced at Georgia. “At that point, I didn’t know what to think.”
Marianne tilted her head to the sky. “I did not make out with her,” she said in her robot voice. “I did not make out with her. That never happened. I did not make out—”
Suddenly, her awesome android voice had turned into a gurgle because Patrick had pushed her in the pool. She came up sputtering, cursing every part of his pretty little face, but he hopped in and splashed her again before she could get any of it out. “Listen, mister,” she said when he let her breathe. “I shared my every deep, dark secret with half the state today, and I don’t appreciate that no one believes me about this!”
“Aww,” said Georgia, getting up and walking over. “It’s okay, honey. Everyone knows I’m joking. Here…” She lowered herself into the pool, getting the bottom half of her own clothes all wet, and held her arms out to Marianne. “I’m sorry. I won’t tease you anymore.”
Marianne sighed. “Fine.” She waded over to Georgia and leaned in to hug her, but Georgia slipped in like a snake and planted her mouth right on Marianne’s, clutching her behind the head and refusing to let go. Marianne’s screams were drowned out when they toppled sideways into the water.
Patrick pulled them up and wrapped his arms around Marianne’s fuming body to keep her from drowning Georgia. He kissed her on the top of the head. “You asked for that, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Marianne. She sloshed over to the steps and stuck her tongue out at Georgia on her way out. Patrick grabbed two towels from Mom, and after wringing out the edges of their clothes, they went into the house.
“My dad probably has clothes that’ll fit you,” said Marianne, stepping over Mickey. He was lying on his stomach on the living room floor playing a video game with Dark Lord Alvin. “Dad?” Marianne popped her head into the kitchen, and her mouth fell open. Dad and Michael were sitting around the kitchen table, drinking beers and smoking cigars with Ronny Grant. “Hi,” she said.
Ronny lifted his bottle. “Nice party,” he said, smoke billowing out with every word. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Sure thing.” Marianne turned wide eyes to Dad, and he smiled. “Can Patrick borrow some dry clothes?”
Dad nodded and then squinted at her. “You should wash your face, Mary.”
Apparently, her ghetto makeup job hadn’t survived the pool all that well. Marianne rolled her eyes and turned around. Just then, the front door flew open, and she was smothered in an amazing black afro and high-pitched squeals.
Brook finished kissing Marianne all over her face and stepped back. “Oh my goodness, I just heard the news!” Brook bounced forward and kissed Patrick on the cheek. “I told you! Didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes,” laughed Patrick. “The party’s out back,” he said, pointing toward the backyard.
“Awesome,” said Brook.
She started to walk past them, but Marianne grabbed her arm. “Thanks for coming.” Then she leaned forward and whispered in Brook’s ear, “There’s some very interesting stuff in the linen closet behind the fancy tablecloths, if you’re interested.”
Brook stood completely still. “How much?” she said, barely moving her lips.
“Sixty points,” whispered Marianne. “At least.”
Brook nodded almost imperceptibly and walked away.
“What was that?” said Patrick.
Marianne turned around. “What was what?”
“What did you tell her?”
Marianne tried not to smile. “It’s a secret. I’ll text it to you someday.”
Patrick shoved her sideways. “Oh, get going.” He slapped her on her wet rear when she turned around. “You think you’re so funny.”
Marianne laughed as she walked down the dim hallway. She’d just stepped into her Dad’s room when she heard Patrick open her bedroom door and then slam it shut. She spun around. “What?”
Patrick blinked and shook his head. “Wow.”
Marianne walked over to him slowly. “More gifts from the Dark Lord?” The linen closet couldn’t hold much more, but Brook would be happy.
“I wish.”
Marianne stepped past him and opened her door. What the... Sitting on her bed in the dark were a very guilty and disheveled looking Sally and Christian. Sally coughed and adjusted the sleeve of her coat. Christian scratched his beard. Marianne stepped back against the door frame and crossed her arms. They got up and fled without a word.
Marianne turned her head to Patrick. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”
“Agreed.” He nodded. “And the longest. I’ve been awake since twelve last night.”
Marianne couldn’t even speak. Not with the way he was looking at her.
Patrick continued to stare at her, his brown eyes not moving, his hair all wet. “I got something for you,” he said quietly. “You want to see?”
Heck yes. Marianne stepped into her room and flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. “Darn it,” she muttered. She picked her way carefully into the room and found the pull string for the ceiling fan. Still nothing but moonlight. “The bulb must be out. I’ll go get one.” She tried to step back, but Patrick was right behind her.
He closed the door. “Who cares?” he said, sitting down on the floor against her bed. “Let’s just stay here a while where it’s quiet. Besides, we’re Goth now, so we prefer it like this.”
“We?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling her down to sit next to him. “I make an awesome vampire, remember?”
“I do,” said Marianne, laying her head down on his shoulder. “This is, um… nice.”
“Liar,” he said. “You just want to see what I got you.”
She started laughing. “I do!” she said. “We can pretend to be gloomy later.”
“Here.” He grabbed her hand and placed her fingers on the inside of his forearm, near the wrist. “Feel that?”
“No.”
“Of course you can’t,” he said. “It’s a tattoo.”
Marianne’s breath caught, remembering his trip to the shop with Brook. “What did you get?”
“No way. You have to see it.”
“Okay.” Marianne tried to jump up, but Patrick pulled her back down.
“No. Stay.”
Marianne growled. “You are irritating me.”
“I know,” he said. “But I can’t do without you. Not for a second.”
Marianne reached through the dim light and found his face with her hand. “You really…” She still couldn’t believe it. “You got a tattoo for me? After we broke up?”
“Yeah,” he said, and kissed her palm. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
Marianne laughed. “I’ll say.” Then she stopped laughing. She couldn’t help wondering what he thought about that decision now. They were on the same page with everything, right? They had to be, but she wanted to hear him say it.
Patrick sensed the change in her posture. “What is it?”
“Um…” Marianne swallowed. “Well, we haven’t really had a chance to talk, yet. Really talk.”
“What’s wrong?”
he said.
Marianne shifted her position. “I was just wondering—”
“Don’t you dare,” interrupted Patrick.
“Well!” said Marianne. “You never really said it plainly…”
Patrick was leaning away from her. “Don’t you say it,” he warned. “Don’t you dare.”
“Sorry,” she whispered, smiling.
Patrick crossed his arms over his knees and collapsed forward, banging his head onto his forearms repeatedly. “Yes, Marianne. Yes.”
“Yes, what?” she said, biting her lip.
“Yes,” he sighed, banging his head again. “Yes, we are back together. I love you even though you have got to be the most frustrating creature alive, and we are back together. Satisfied?”
Marianne smiled broadly in the dark. “I am.”
She heard him sigh dramatically.
“Wait, no,” she said. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“Show me your tattoo.”
“No,” he said, sitting up again. “I have a sinister side now, and I like torturing you.” He shifted so that he was seated cross-legged facing her, and she did likewise.
“Please,” she whined. “Let me fix the lamp real quick. Please?”
“Actually,” he said, a laugh in his voice, “I’ve got one for that.”
“One what?”
“A question,” said Patrick. “Tell me, Marianne, how many Goths does it take to change a light bulb?”
“You are the worst.”
“None.” Patrick reached out and traced his fingers along her face. “They just embrace the darkness.”
32
Epilogue
Patrick
March 2009
The external screen of Patrick’s Sony Ericsson W300i flip-phone glowed orange with a new text message from Marianne.
I’m almost home from work. You’d better be there. I’m serious.
Patrick snapped his phone shut and stuck it in his pocket. He was already at her house, trimming the Yorks’ overgrown shade tree so Marianne wouldn’t have to hurt her feet on the spiky seeds anymore. For reasons he could not understand, she always refused to put on shoes when taking out the trash. He heard her pull up to the curb behind him and then slam the car door with much more force than usual. Uh-oh. He turned around and watched her stomp up the driveway carrying a grocery bag.
Marianne Page 38